


Neither Rhyme Nor Reason

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Nothing in the World [3]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Best Friends, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pre-Slash, Teasing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shizuo has been too quiet." Izaya likes the distraction of Shizuo's company, and when Shizuo is too quiet he gets restless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Rhyme Nor Reason

Shizuo has been too quiet.

It’s not as if Izaya actually has anything for the other to do. Shizuo showed up this morning like he always does, as if they ever go out to gather information more frequently than once a week. But Shizuo has yet to protest spending all his waking hours at Izaya’s still-new apartment, and Izaya’s not going to be the one to point out that he doesn’t really need a bodyguard for the mundanities of his day-to-day existence. The rare occasions Shizuo is away for most of the day are bad enough; Izaya usually ends up taking his phone and shutting himself up in his room just for the sake of avoiding the emptiness that seems to take on physical weight to fill the rest of his too-large apartment. So Izaya doesn’t tell Shizuo when he’s not technically needed, and Shizuo shows up every morning without protest, and Izaya is left to work at his computer desk or stretch across the couch while Shizuo reads, or watches TV, or experiments with some particularly complex new recipe. It’s nice just to have the sound of someone else’s existence to fill the space, to have a reason to laugh out loud instead of limiting himself to an almost-soundless huff of amusement, to have the occasional burst of conversation like a check for Izaya’s own existence, to make sure he hasn’t entirely disintegrated into the electronics of the forums and chatrooms he habitually frequents. Usually Izaya can focus on his work, can rely on Shizuo to make his presence noticeable if not ostentatious; but Shizuo arrived some hours ago, and sprawled out on his stomach over the length of the couch, and has been so still and silent ever since it’s only the low murmur of the television that says there’s anyone else in the room at all. Izaya has been looking up from his computer at increasingly frequent intervals just to check to see if the other is still awake, and finally he locks his computer screen and pushes back from his desk so he can get to his feet. Even that doesn’t catch Shizuo’s attention; the other is gazing at the television across from him, his focus so completely held that it’s not until Izaya says “What are you watching that’s so interesting?” that he even glances up.

“Are you done?” Shizuo asks, but his attention is skipping back to the screen without waiting for an answer, his focus drifting away before Izaya has even managed to frown negation at him. “A show.”

“Oh,” Izaya deadpans, coming across the floor and around the back of the couch. “A show. Right, how foolish of me, I should have known.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says without looking up. His mouth is tense at the very corner like he’s fighting off a smile. “You really should have.”

Izaya sits at the back of the couch, bracing himself against the support so he can swing his legs up and over the barrier. “Idiot,” he announces, letting his foot drop to kick against the small of Shizuo’s back. Shizuo makes a face, growling something incoherent at the impact, and Izaya lets his other foot join the first, pressing discomfort against the other’s spine with his heels. “Obviously it’s a show. Why have you been watching it all day instead of being more productive?” Shizuo grimaces at the weight of Izaya pushing at his back and twists onto his side so he can shove at the other’s feet, but Izaya just shifts his point of attack to Shizuo’s waist, kicking distraction against the edge of the other’s ribcage. “Are you just feeling exceptionally lazy today?”

“It’s interesting,” Shizuo tells him. “And you didn’t have anything for me to do. Stop kicking me.”

“I can’t believe I’m paying you for this,” Izaya sighs, swinging his foot harder against Shizuo’s side. “You lie on my couch and watch my television and eat my food all day, what a tolerant employer you have.”

“You don’t even eat your food yourself,” Shizuo points out. “When _are_ you going to pay me, by the way?”

“When you stop being a freeloader,” Izaya informs him, and kicks hard enough that Shizuo huffs an exhale and frowns at him.

“Stop kicking me.” He reaches up to push Izaya’s leg aside but Izaya swings his foot sideways to knock against Shizuo’s hip instead. “Stop or I’ll make you.”

Izaya raises an eyebrow and lets his mouth drag into a smirk. “ _Make_ me, huh?”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, and then Izaya kicks against his side and Shizuo moves all at once, his hand snapping out faster than Izaya was expecting to close against the other’s ankle. Izaya jerks back in instinctive attempt at retreat but Shizuo’s grip is unbreaking; all Izaya’s motion does is tip him off-balance to start to fall over the back of the couch. It’s only Shizuo reaching up with his free hand to catch at his elbow that saves him from toppling onto the floor, and then they overbalance in the other direction and Izaya falls off his perch, all his bearing on the world veering off-center as he flails for a handhold. He lands against Shizuo’s side, his hand catching hard against the cushions under them, and Shizuo huffs a delayed-reaction “ _Ow_ ” as Izaya tries to figure out where he’s ended up. “You’re too skinny, Izaya.”

“Really,” Izaya says. One knee is pressing hard against Shizuo’s thigh; when he shifts he loses his balance again and starts to slide off the couch before Shizuo can reach out to catch an arm around his waist to keep him steady. “You’d rather I landed on you with _more_ weight?”

“Maybe,” Shizuo allows. “You’d have less sharp edges, at least. Hold still before you fall off the couch again.”

“I didn’t _fall_ ,” Izaya corrects him. “You _pulled_ me. I should be pushing you off the couch just to get even.” Shizuo huffs disagreement in the form of a laugh, pushing against Izaya’s hip to shift their position, and Izaya capitulates to the other’s hold, only indulging in a single deliberately placed elbow against Shizuo’s ribs as he turns over the cushions. For a minute his arm is twisted under him, the weight of his elbow digging into his side; then he works himself free, and Shizuo tugs him backwards, and when Izaya slides across the couch he ends up pressed hard against Shizuo’s chest.

“There,” Shizuo says against his hair, the words ruffling through the strands and shivering electricity all down Izaya’s spine. “That’s better.”

“This isn’t _better_ ,” Izaya protests, though it comes out weak and a little shaky with the thrum of heat in the back of his throat and radiating out from the support of Shizuo pressing against his spine. “Now I can’t be any more productive than you’re being.” He wiggles against the couch, trying to shift his arm to a more comfortable position underneath him and only half-succeeding. “I can’t believe you’d sabotage me like this, Shizu-chan.”

“You asked what I was watching,” Shizuo tells him. “Stop complaining and watch.”

“I asked so you could _tell_ me,” Izaya shoots back. “With _words_.” He’s got his hand out from under him; after a moment he manages to settle himself with his head pillowed against his arm and his fingertips skimming the ends of Shizuo’s hair and the edge of his collar. “Not so you could drag me down to waste the rest of my day too.”

“You haven’t even seen it.” Shizuo’s hand shifts against Izaya’s hip, the weight of his fingers easing as he slides his hold away; for a moment Izaya thinks he’s letting go completely to withdraw the contact. But then he shifts closer, his arm falling heavy around Izaya’s waist, and Izaya’s breath goes sticky in his throat at the casual press of Shizuo’s arm draped around him. “Give it an episode before you reject it completely.”

“You don’t leave me much choice,” Izaya tells him, but there’s no real fire in his voice; it’s hard to control the sound in his throat when his whole body is thrumming with energy and warmth in equal parts. His skin is hot at every point Shizuo is touching him: the whole length of his spine, the dip of his waist, the back of his leg where Shizuo’s knee is angled against him. When Shizuo breathes out the warmth catches and ruffles through Izaya’s hair; if Izaya stretches his fingertips out he could drag his touch deliberately against the other’s collar, could dip his hand just inside the fabric, could settle the press of his fingertips against Shizuo’s pulse point to see if the other’s heart is beating as hard as his own is, to see if Shizuo’s skin is flushed as warm as his feels.

He doesn’t reach for the contact. He stays still instead, doing his best to imitate comfortable relaxation when his every inhale is loaded with hyperawareness, when his whole body is so tense he can feel every unthinking movement Shizuo makes like it’s humming down a taut wire. It’s not quite comfortable, isn’t quite pleasant; but when the episode ends Izaya doesn’t move, and Shizuo doesn’t say anything, and the next one starts without any commentary from either of them.

Izaya isn’t watching the show, but he still thinks he’d be willing to stay here all day.


End file.
